


Empty Flask, Secrets, Cigarettes

by b_ofdale



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Bisexual Disaster John, Coming Out, Gen, Supportive Friend Sara, it wouldn't be a The Alienist fic if I didn't mention Joseph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: John’s empty flask of whiskey made for quite a sad sight, turning and turning between his fingers without purpose as it was.But then, perhaps it was only a matter of point of view.





	Empty Flask, Secrets, Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a fic about John and Sara coming out to each other ever since I read the book, but never got around to do it. Probably because with only the book in mind, it sounded more humoristic in my head and I'm not really good at comedy. But with the show, I could develop another version of the idea, and this is what I came up with! 
> 
> Once again I made a sort of mix between the book and the show, both in terms of characterization and everything else...
> 
> By the way, while John is in both versions our favourite bisexual disaster, I headcanon Sara as bi or birom ace in the show, and as aroace interested in queerplatonic relationships with women in the book. Or just as gay. Listen, I just can't decide. Either way, she likes women.
> 
> As always, the biggest of thanks to [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsmoore) for the editing! <3

John’s empty flask of whiskey made for quite a sad sight, turning and turning between his fingers without purpose as it was. 

But then, perhaps it was only a matter of point of view. 

That morning, John had found himself on an early walk to 808 Broadway. Something that anyone would have revealed wasn’t usual from him, as he was renowned for his—sometimes infuriating—habit of being late to wherever he was needed, and even then, most certainly not by foot. 

As the fresh wind of May hit his face, John had thought he could always get some more sleep on the comfortable sofa Laszlo had brought in to headquarters—but when he’d gotten there, as appealing as sleeping had been at the time, John instead had sat by the window, in Stevie’s usual spot, and ignoring the street down below that was getting busier and busier by the minute, he looked up towards the sky. 

It was of the clearest blue that it’d been in weeks, and the sun shone kindly upon his skin. John heaved out a sigh. 

At the beginning of the case, it’d been surprisingly easy to keep his mind from the usual bad thoughts that plagued it. That was over, now. 

Faces, all angry, sad, or disappointed flashed before his eyes whenever he wasn’t distracted by something or someone, all painful reminders of what was lost, and what could be. 

By quitting drinking, John had allowed all those thoughts to rush back to him, and with them bad dreams and sleepless nights to add to the chest crushing anxiety that the case often provoked.

Guilt, fear, worthlessness. 

He’d truly not chosen the best of times to listen to Sara and try to change his life. 

And, there was Joseph’s life that he wished would change, too. Another reason not to sleep well at night. 

Each time John saw or thought of the boy, he remembered his brother’s disappointed face the very last time he’d seen him, and keeping his emotions concealed proved itself all the harder. He’d never been good at it—but these days, he didn’t feel like he had even an ounce of control over them left. 

To think, Joseph was just a child. It killed him to count each more passing day as his young friend spent more of his life in those places; the street, the brothels, all dirty and cold. . . no place for a child to grow up, and too much of the darkness in the world unravelled too soon. 

John shook his head, taking out a cigarette from its pack. He’d already made his decision; soon, he would take Joseph away from all of that, be it with him if Joseph agreed, or somewhere else. As long as he’d be safe. John wasn’t about to get picky. 

Anywhere but not on the street, selling his body in exchange for money, food, and shelter. 

Lighting the cigarette in his mouth, John inhaled as he took it back out, letting the smoke sit for a while in his lungs, before exhaling out slowly. 

In John’s left hand, the flask kept turning and turning. 

His decision was made, sure, but what if the wrong people came to know about it? A lump formed in John’s throat—here came the biggest of his worries, and perhaps, the only thread still holding him back. It wouldn’t be good, for Joseph nor himself. 

John’s eyes shifted to the street. Out of habit, he opened the flask and brought it up to his mouth. The metal was cold against his lips, but no liquid poured down to burn away the lump in his throat. 

John grunted, his hand clenching around the flask as he closed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the window.

“You look like you’ve been ridden over by a trolley, John Moore.”

John jumped abrasively, knocking his head against the window and dropping his cigarette. His left hand holding the flask flew to his chest, while the other went up to his forehead, feeling a bump starting to form. He turned around abruptly, crushing the fallen cigarette under his shoe.

“Sara, you could’ve killed me!”

“Oh John, don’t be so dramatic,” Sara said with a roll of her eyes. She hung her cloak on the hatstand before walking up to him, barely hidden curiosity across her face. “What are you doing here so early? I dare say it isn’t like you.”

Putting his offense aside, John replied with a slight shrug as he sat back down. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I thought I’d rest here for a bit, but—”

“Too much on your mind?”

“Who doesn’t, these days?”

Sara cracked a small, sympathetic smile. It never ceased to warm John’s heart. One didn’t get a genuine smile out of Sara so easily, and he often wished he managed to do so more often, under better circumstances. It’d been easier back when he’d been a teenager, and her a child—when Sara had been too young to realize she would have to work harder than any man. When life had been kinder. 

“You look particularly terrible, though,” Sara insisted, holding her hands behind her back.

John raised an eyebrow at her with a huff. “Thank you, Sara?”

“What troubles you? The case?”

Always so undeterred, she was. John shifted uncomfortably where he sat. “No, not the case. Don’t concern yourself about it.”

Sara’s eyes pierced through his own, getting an annoyed groan out of him. It was like she could see right through him—she always had been. 

“Is it about your broken engagement, as Kreizler calls it? Or something else?”

John’s look turned into an offended glare. How come people could read him so easily? 

“I don’t—”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

John let out a laugh. “Thank you, Sara, but I’m fine. I don’t need to talk about my feelings, like—like—”

Crossing her arms across her chest, Sara’s expression turned severe. “A child? A woman?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“If you’re sure you don’t want to talk, that’s alright. But don’t keep it in just because you’re a man, John.”

Looking away, John produced another cigarette out of his case. He didn’t like it, nor would he audibly admit it, but Sara was right. Being an emotional boy had not made his childhood and his relationship with his father any easier, and even today he still felt the weight of those years upon his shoulders. 

“You know, it’s good that you quit drinking, but smoking all day isn’t going to help you,” she added. 

“You sound like Laszlo,” John complained. “One step at a time, Sara.”

Sara didn’t answer. Instead, she appeared in John’s sight, sitting in front of him at the window, staring meaningfully. 

John sighed, meeting her eyes again. She had always been like this, and he’d never managed to resist her. When Sara wanted something, she usually didn’t have to ask twice to get it.

“You know I met this young lad, Joseph?”

Sara nodded, straightening up even more, as though to give him her full attention. 

“Well, I’d like to help him. Get him out of. . . there.”

“What’s stopping you?” Sara asked, closing her hands on her lap. John could almost see her brain working hard behind her eyes. Laszlo couldn’t have been more right, when he’d noted that Sara seemed to ‘view everything around her as a test case on which to sharpen her detecting skills.’

“Nothing,” John blurted out, before getting himself together. Now that she’d gotten him to talk (and she was right, it did do him good), he might as well say it all. “I suppose I’m just. . . scared.”

Sara tilted her head slightly to the side. “Of what?”

John swallowed, taking in another swig of the cigarette. He then searched Sara’s eyes, unsure of whether or not he should really continue. He either had to, or had to find a good reason to avoid the rest of the conversation. Or he could just wait until Sara found out about it on her own. Strangely enough, he found he didn’t want to—he wanted to say it, and he wanted to hear his voice saying the words and not feel shame over them. 

He’d never thought he’d tell Sara out of all people. But if not her, then who? 

“Julia didn’t cheat on me and left me because she’d found love with someone else,” John said quickly.

Sara’s brows furrowed. “What does that have anything to do with the child?”

John held up his hand, and breathed in deeply. “She left me because she found out that I—” He paused, finding his hands shaking, and not only because of the lack of alcohol in his blood. Even after all this time, the wound still stung. He’d loved Julia truly, as much as he’d thought himself capable of loving. Perhaps that was why it still hurt so much. 

“What is it, John?”

He liked this, truly—when Sara showed her softer side—but he had no heart to appreciate the attention. At least, not until he’d know what she’d think of him over what he was about to say. Not until he’d be sure that he hadn’t made a mistake, and wasn’t going to lose her for it, too. 

This hadn’t been in his plans for today.

“John, look at me.”

The authority was back in Sara’s voice, making him do as she asked. 

God, he was terrified. 

“She found letters. Old letters of mine that I kept locked up. She was jealous, even of past relationships. She wanted to know about them all, and that’s what she found out about.” John took in another breath. His cigarette was burning away almost to the butt of it. He properly locked eyes with Sara. Dammit, he’d just say it. “I’ve been with men, Sara. She didn’t take it well.”

He didn’t voice that he was afraid Sara wouldn’t take it well, either. However she was silent, but the look on her face remained impassible, and John didn’t dare carry on. 

Meanwhile, the flask in his hand turned faster. 

“Won’t you say something?” he asked, perhaps too desperately for his taste. 

There was another short silence, until Sara said, “What is there to say, other than what she did was despicable?”

The flask stopped turning. 

Incredulously, John blinked several times. His mouth closing and opening once, twice, at a loss for words. “You don’t mind it?” 

Sara looked slightly amused now. “Why would I? It’s your life, not anyone else’s. Besides, why would I feel negatively over something I can relate to?”

“If you’re joking, Sara, I’d like you to know that it isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Though, her expression remained the same, and John could easily imagine what was going on inside her; both excitement and apprehension, for he felt them as well. 

“Oh.” John took out yet another cigarette, unconsciously trying to act casual. “So you, uhm, like—”

Sara slapped the cigarette out of his hand before he could get the chance to light it. “Women, yes. But this isn’t about me,” she said, ignoring John’s offended stare, before changing the subject, “So, that’s why you’re thinking about all this again.”

Reluctantly, John forced himself to put that new information to the side, though relief still warmed his heart. “I just want to help that kid,” he said, feeling the warmth cool off as his thoughts turned back to Joseph again. “I’d like. . . I’d like to ask him to come live with me and my grandmother. But there’s one problem—”

“You’re scared Julia will learn about him, tell everyone what she knows, and they’ll put him back in the streets.”

John slowly nodded. “Yes.”

Joseph didn’t have anyone. He himself didn’t have much more to lose, and though he didn’t look forward to whatever might happen to him, he feared more about what would become of Joseph. Perhaps he could ask Laszlo to take him in—John shook his head. Way to be pessimistic, he thought. 

“Who else knows?” Sara asked then, and much to John’s surprise, took the flask from his hand and placed it beside them, then took his hand and wrapped both of her own over it. Knowing Sara, it might as well have been to stop him from taking a new cigarette. 

“No one. Maybe Kreizler. Well, I never told him, but I’m sure he knows.”

“He seems to know everything sometimes, doesn’t he?”

John let out a low, sarcastic laugh. “That’s an understatement, Sara.”

There was silence, for a moment. It wasn’t awkward, nor uncomfortable. Rather, it was a silence of understanding, and the lump returned to John’s throat; not in shame or fear, but instead in a ball of emotions that pushed him to look down to the street, then to his useless, empty flask between them.

“It feels nice to tell someone, doesn’t it?”

John cracked a smile. “Yes,” he said, eyes shifting back to Sara. Thankfully his voice didn’t break. “I thought I’d take it to the grave. Certainly not that I’d tell you out of nowhere.”

“Now now, John,” Sara said, before regaining her neutral face. “It’s good that you told me. You shouldn’t have had to keep it to yourself for so long.”

John shrugged. “Had you told someone before?”

“My father.”

“Ah. A good man, I remember.”

“He was.” There was something sympathetic about Sara’s voice now, as if she’d read his thoughts; John didn’t even want to imagine his own father’s reaction, if he came to know. “You’re a good man too, John. You care what would happen to Joseph more than what would happen to you.”

John rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. There were compliments he could take, and others that were still hard to believe. “But what if something did happen to me?”

“You should tell Kreizler about your plan,” Sara suggested, putting her hand over his arm. “If anything was to turn badly, he will do what it takes. And I will do everything I can to help.”

“That sounds like a promise.”

“Because it is.”

John smiled, putting his own hand over Sara’s and giving it a light squeeze. Sharing his secret with Sara, and getting to know hers in return—it felt like getting closer to her, in a way that he had never considered before. In a way that he wouldn’t, and couldn’t ever take for granted. 

A way in which he didn’t have to feel alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Kudos are much appreciated. And don't forget, comments are like writing fuel!! :D
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ [evansluke](http://evansluke.tumblr.com)!


End file.
